The Baron was a Baroness. Heden wondered why no one seemed to use the gendered term.

She and two advisors stood behind a large oak desk at which sat a bald, elderly monk who scratched ink onto vellum. It was likely, Heden thought, that the Baron could not read. Literacy had never caught on here at the fringes of civilization. The writings would be posted, but first a crier would read them to a gathered throng. There was a time when this would have seemed hopelessly backward to Heden. Now he experienced a mixture of nostalgia and respect. Things here hadn’t changed in a long time, because they didn’t need to.

He waited, eyes cast down, and listened to the Baron’s voice as she took advice from her privy council. One old man with white hair and a long robe, and a man Heden’s age who wore a breastplate and a mace at his side. A talisman around his neck. A wizard and a priest. Heden frowned, wondering what Renaldo would think.

The Baron looked ten years older than Heden and, while all the noblemen he’d ever met wore plated armor over chain and leather, she was sporting scale armor, which Heden had only ever seen in paintings and tapestries. The scales were white and Heden wondered what they were made of. They fit her well, which Heden wondered at because he suspected the armor was very old. She seemed fit and capable. Her straight hair was cut just below her ears in the classical Golish style. She had that bronze-skinned, black-haired look of the ancient Gol that bred true every few generations. Heden thought she was probably proud of her heritage.

She was talking about drunkenness and curfew during the siege. There was a stack of already finished proclamations and Heden recognized she was anticipating the next week or two’s events and preparing documents now while she could.

The two guards stood behind Heden in the large stone room, the ceiling an impressive thirty feet high. Shafts of pale light stabbing through tall, narrow windows onto a once ornate faded rug.

He listened to several proclamations, all very pragmatic, and then she finished. She looked at the guards. They shoved Heden forward.

Heden remembered his etiquette, bowed, and said “Thank you for receiving me, milady.”

The Baron tilted her head to one side and examined Heden for a few moments, then looked at one of the guards.

“He was talking to that little birdie they’ve got down at the Turnip.”

The Baron turned to the old man.

“The Riojan, milady. Renaldo,” the presumably wizard said.

The Baron nodded. She walked around the front of the large oak table the scribe sat scribbling at, and leaned back against its edge, bracing herself with her hands, legs crossed at the ankles. In spite of her Golish heritage, her ancient armor, and her even more ancient castle, she had to Heden’s eye a very modern attitude.

“Are you a friend of the minstrel’s?” she asked.

“No milady,” Heden responded.

“Just…plying him for information?”

Heden shrugged.

The Baron shot a look at the head guard, who lunged forward and bashed the back of Heden’s neck with his mailed elbow, causing Heden to stumble forward.

“When the Baron asks you a question, you better come up with a fucking answer,” the guard said, his voice thick and meaty.

The Baron frowned at him, and he stepped back a pace.

Heden, hand to his neck, slowly straightened up and turned to stare at the guard.

The guard tried to stare back, but after a moment seemed to doubt himself and looked at the Baron for help.

Heden turned back to the Baron.

“Your people are under a lot of stress,” Heden said, looking at the light coming in the window. “There’s a siege coming, everyone’s talking about it. People may die.” He looked at the Baron. “But you tell your warthog there that if he touches me again he won’t have to worry about the siege because I will put him on his ass and he will not get up.”

The guard stepped forward ready for violence but the Baron made a gesture and cut him off.

The almost-certainly priest walked to the side of the table and looked at Heden with scorn.

“Someone called you a priest,” the man said with disdain in what seemed to Heden an affected noble accent.

Heden gave the man a pained look. He didn’t say anything.

“Well man, speak up. You have no chasuble, no raiment. What manner of priest did you claim to be?”

“I was made a Prelate five years ago,” Heden said. True.

The Baroness looked at him with something approaching hunger. The man with the mace stepped back a pace unconsciously.

“My advisor,” the Baron said, appearing to take a little pleasure from the confrontation. “Deacon Owlsley.” With her northern accent, it sounded to Heden like ‘woolsley.’

“A Prelate five years ago,” she repeated. “And now?”

“I’m seconded to Bishop Conmonoc, Hierarch of the Church of Cavall the Righteous.” Also true.

She looked at her Deacon for confirmation. Owlsey’s mouth was open; he seemed to be having trouble breathing. He saw his Baron’s expression and closed his mouth. Composed himself. He concentrated.

Heden could tell Owlsley believed him even before he prayed. When you sense truth for a living, you developed a quick instinct for it. A whispered prayer and the Deacon nodded to the Baron.

The Baron was impressed and looked at Heden as though he was a statue made of gold and she planned on melting him down and spending him.

“What saint do you follow?” she asked.

Heden took a weary breath. “Saint Lynwen.”

The Baron shook her head and looked at her priest. He shook his head once.

“She’s obscure,” Heden explained. True. He omitted the fact that he was her only follower.

“What is your name?”

He told her.

“Heden, you come to us in a time of dire need.”

I bet, Heden thought.

“Everyone believes there’s an army of urmen on their way here,” Heden said.

The Baron nodded.

“Have you seen them?”

“My scouts have. My Wizard has scryed them,” she said, indicating the older man behind her.

“How many do you estimate?” Heden asked, expecting the answer to be in the hundreds. The number he heard outside the gate, a thousand, was an exaggeration.

“Five thousand.”

Heden didn’t say anything. His expression didn’t change. But his sense of ease and his relaxed attitude faded. Only someone who knew him would notice it.

He frowned, remembering something.

“You normally rely on the Green Order to defend you.”

The Baron nodded.

“But there are only nine of them.”

“They are the greatest knights on life,” she said simply. “A single member of the Order could hold off hundreds of lesser beings.”

Lesser beings.

Training to be a knight took years, it included at least a year questing as a Knight errant. The same urman that threatened a famer’s life, his family, was a nuisance to a well-trained knight. But nine against five thousand? He conceded it was possible. The Mirror Circle could do it. The White Hart certainly. But they were the King’s personal guard. How could an order out here in the middle of nowhere…? Something didn’t fit.

“Where are they now?”

“There has been a death,” the Baron said. “And since then, nothing.”

She knows about the death, Heden thought, and remembered the one milky white holly berry.

“The minstrel said you haven’t been able to contact them. Said something about the forest not permitting it.”

The Baron ignored the question. She sighed and turned to the scrolls she’d been dictating and, almost absently, asked; “how much do you know about the urmen?”

Heden looked around for a place to sit, and noted the guard behind him scowling at him.

“I know they were created by the dragons in mockery of men,” he said. Everyone in the room looked at him, surprised.

“Is that true?” The Baron asked her advisors. They indicated this was the first they’d heard of it.

“Possibly an ancient legend, milady,” the wizard said.

“They live short lives,” Heden continued, ignoring the wizard who, at least, was not affecting an accent above his station. “30 years. And they war constantly. Your son or daughter might take a year to learn to walk. An urq can walk and talk within a week of birth. The only thing they understand is strength. The strong lead, the weak are killed. They’re smart. You can treat with them but it’s rare. They hate humans and don’t really…they’ve never understood what makes humans strong. Or believe humans can be strong. And they don’t live long enough to learn. They take what they want, or die trying.”

The Baron was obviously impressed. She looked at her wizard disparagingly.

“You speak of negotiation,” the Wizard intoned, trying to control the conversation and make up what he had lost in his master’s eye. “What, in your expert opinion, would they want in return for sparing us?”

The Baron turned back to Heden hoping for an answer. A solution.

Heden shrugged. “The dragons created them to hate humans. It’s in their blood. An individual might decide different but as a race…” Heden pursed his lips and shook his head dismissively. “They’re driven to attack whatever humans hold. And,” he added casually, “it gives them something to do.”

“Like building castles,” the Baron said, wryly.

“Better to be fighting you than each other. Every few years a strong leader comes around, unites the tribes….” Heden stopped, the conclusion was obvious. “I’m surprised it doesn’t happen more often up here.”

“The Order,” the Baron said. Heden was still skeptical. Something was missing from the equation. Nine men and woman holding back everything that called the Forest home?

“Could you stop them?” she asked.

Heden stared at her.

“Could I stop five thousand urmen?”

“Yes.”

Heden’s eyes darted around the room, looking for any sign of sanity. Everyone was looking at him expectantly. “No.”

“He could do it,” the deacon snapped. He seemed to Heden afraid.

“You’re mad,” Heden said, as though identifying the man’s country of origin.

“A Prelate of Cavall could summon a Dominion. A whole army of Dominions. He could…” the deacon stopped talking to the room and spoke directly to Heden. Any fear of Heden, any embarrassment at being made to look the fool was gone. This was a man begging for his life. “Listen man, you could take our men and pray and bless them until each was worth 10 urmen.”

Heden stared at him as though he’d gone insane, as though he was babbling nonsense that might be contagious.

“It doesn’t work that way,” Heden said. “You should…” he looked at the Baron. “He should know better. Is this what you’ve got?”

She ignored him.

“You would have the use of my men,” she said.

“Your men?” Heden asked, skeptical.

“Yes.”

“How many men do you have?” Heden asked, keen to hear the answer, showing a little anger at the irresponsibility in evidence.

“200 regulars and maybe 400 peasant levies.”

“You’d need at least a thousand,” Heden said. “Ten units of trained and experienced solders, forget farmers with pitchforks. Inside a Gol keep, with foreknowledge of the army, a thousand soldiers could defend five thousand urmen. Until you ran out of food, but the urq don’t like long sieges.”

“I have six hundred.”

“Then you need to get your people out of here.”

“That’s been suggested.”

“Good.”

“It’s too late,” the Baron concluded. “We couldn’t move fast enough.”

“Why did you wait?” Heden demanded. “You’ve sentenced these people to death, what did you think was going to happen!?”

“One does not address the Baron in that manner!” The wizard said. Heden ignored him and locked eyes with the Baron.

She just looked at him, her jaw set, her mouth a thin pursed line, but her eyes pleading.

“The Green Order,” Heden said for her. She didn’t object. She at least had the decency to appear regretful. Shamed. Heden thought for a moment.

“Alright, here’s what you do. You tell your people to scatter. Run like mad for any town in any direction. Don’t let them group up. Send your men in squads with them, give them orders so they make sure the people don’t end up running to the same place. Confuse the enemy. Make them split their forces. The urmen won’t know what to do when they leave the forest, they don’t like plains. They’ll probably still take the keep even if it’s empty. They’re stupid that way.”

The wizard and the deacon both looked expectantly at the Baron. They were hoping she’d take the advice.

The Baron ignored them and held Heden’s gaze. “We’re going to wait here.”

“What?”

“The Green is out there, they have to come. It’s their oath.”

“Their oath?” Heden repeated.

She nodded.

“And you’re willing to bet the lives of all your subjects on that?”

She said, quietly; “We always have before.” She blinked as she said it, as though she didn’t dare take the time to evaluate that decision.

“This is madness,” Heden said. “You’re all mad, you know that right? You deserve to get roasted alive by an army of urq, but those people out there,” Heden said, shouting, stabbing his finger at the window, “haven’t don’t anything wrong except depend on you!”

“Listen you piece of shit!”

Heden had forgotten about the guards behind him. The bigger guard clamped his mailed hand on Heden’s shoulder.

It sounded to everyone in the room like Heden swore under his breath in an inhuman tongue, several words as he spun and hit the guard square in the chest with the flat of his hand.

The guard, tall, big, stupid, had the wind driven out of him and his eyes went wide with surprise as the blow lifted him impossibly off his feet and sent him sailing. As he flew backward, his skin, his clothes, his whole body flashed to stone and what hit the ground was a kind of rough-hewn statue that shrieked when the rump of the former guard skidded against the flagstones.

The younger guard swore and fell down, scrabbling to get away from Heden. The priest and the wizard raced to put up wards while the Baron looked at the statue that used to be her guard captain.

“By Cyrvis’ thorny prick!” the wizard hissed. “What have you done, man?”

“I told him,” Heden said, upset at himself for losing his temper. “I told him.”

“Arrest him!” the Deacon said and, as realization dawned that the only man who could arrest Heden was now a large piece of art, he looked wildly around the room at no one. “Someone arrest…” He trailed off.

“I needed him,” The Baron said, more to herself than anyone. It seemed like Heden’s action had collapsed whatever support she’d been using to hold back despair; she now seemed like someone who’d given up. “His family had been in service to mine for five generations. I was at his wedding.”

“It’ll wear off,” Heden said, looking at the floor. “I lost my temper, there was no excuse for that, milady.” He was angry at himself for getting involved in this in the first place.

“How long will he be like that?” the Baron asked, her voice flat.

“Three days,” Heden said.

The Baron looked at Heden. “I don’t have enough guards left.”

Heden was upset at himself, but refused to show it. He went on the attack. “You didn’t have enough guards to begin with,” he said, looking her in the eyes. He stabbed a finger at her. “You never had enough. Against five thousand urmen? You never had enough.”

“The Order will come.”

Heden remembered his instructions. The ritual that would cleanse the order was in his pack.

“Pray they do,” Heden said, and meant it.

The Baron appeared to reach a conclusion. She composed herself and rebuilt whatever defenses against despair Heden had momentarily destroyed. “You are a prelate of Cavall. Even were you to simply heal the wounded your services would be invaluable. And you just cost me my guard captain. I’m pressing you into service. You are a serf on my land, and under the contract between your lord and master you owe service, prelate or no. Consider this payment on all such debts.”

“I’m sorry,” Heden said, shaking his head. “We both know that won’t work. Anyway, I’m already a freeman. I’m going to do everything I can to help you, but not here.”

The Baron looked confused. “How then?”

“I’m going to find the Green Order.” Somewhere in the previous conversation, Heden discovered that he was this town’s only hope. These poor idiots, just like the poor idiots he grew up with, the poor idiots his parents were. The poor idiot he was. Whatever he thought before now, he was committed.

“Is that why you’re here?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Heden said without conviction.

“The Bishop sent you here to liberate the Order from whatever prevents it from reaching us?” The Baron was skeptical. She obviously didn’t believe Heden.

“Something like that,” Heden replied. He didn’t know what he believed anymore.

He looked at the Baron and they shared a moment. He didn’t know why he was doing what he was doing, she no longer knew why she was doing what she was doing. Both of them were going through the motions, hoping some greater meaning would present itself. All either of them knew was they didn’t want these people to die.

“Praise Cavall,” the deacon said, putting his fist into his hand and pulling both up to his mouth. He missed whatever was passing between Heden and the Baron.

The Baron shook her head. “It won’t work.”

Heden picked up his pack. “It’ll work,” he said.

“The forest won’t let anyone through. They go in, follow the trail, and come out again without any memory of turning around.”

Heden nodded. “I need a horse.”

“A horse?”

“Just a regular horse. I’m sorry about the guard,” Heden said, not changing tone.

The Baron looked at him. “Me too,” she said. “I’ll have a horse saddled for you.”

“Station people in the warrens,” Heden said. “The urmen sometimes use kethat sappers. The warrens’ll confuse the shit out of them. They won’t expect to find tunnels or people in them.”

The Baron nodded.

“The knight who was killed,” she said. “It was the Knight-commander. Sir Kavalen. He was the….” she faltered. “The head of the order.”

Heden nodded. “Thanks,” he said. It was useful information.

The Baron walked around to the other side of the desk and from a drawer pulled a small vellum scroll tied with ribbon and affixed with a wax imprint of her seal.

She walked around the desk again and presented it to Heden. He thought she was trying to knight him or something.

“If you find them, give this to the Lady Isobel.”

“Isobel.”

“She’s the eldest of the Order.”

Heden took the scroll. “I will. If she’s still alive.”

“She’s alive,” the Baron said.

“You can’t know that,” Heden said. Over the course of the conversation, he’d come to the conclusion the Order had been wiped out. If they had a pact with the forest, that would explain the mazement preventing anyone from entering and looking for them. The forest was saying ‘there is no Order.’

“I would know if she were dead.” Before she continued, Heden sensed what she was going to say next. It explained her blind faith in the Order.

“Lady Isobel is my sister.”

On to Chapter Twenty!

Chapter 19